Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree
by the Queen of Jupiter
Summary: Will visits the Botanic Garden on Midsummer Day. R


Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree  
  
Every Midsummer Day at noon for as long as she knew him, her husband would go down to the Botanic Garden. She never questioned him about it, knowing that it was something deeply personal of his. Every morning on that day, she'd give him a kiss and say, "Are you off to the Garden today?" Her husband would look at her, a look full of love and something else - a twisted sort of sadness that wrenched her own heart just to look at it.  
  
That Midsummer Day morning, the weather was bleak and grey. She looked out the window, noting the clouds that obscured the sky, threatening to make the sun disappear as well. Behind her, she heard her husband come down the stairs to the kitchen, and she turned.  
  
"Off to the Garden today?" she asked. Her husband kissed her, a quick peck on the cheek, and said nothing.  
  
"I think it's going to rain," she said, turning back to the window. "Do you want to bring an umbrella?"  
  
"I'll be fine," he said quietly.  
  
***  
  
The man set out at eleven o'clock. A cat followed closely behind him, a cat with beautiful fur whose color was literally indescribable. It had thousands of different shades of black, shadow gray, ocean blue, misty lavender. However, the grey morning hid the glow and luster it normally had under the sun. The cat padded along behind him silently.  
  
"Hello, Kirjava," the man said, turning to look directly at the cat, smiling.  
  
"You noticed me?" the cat replied, almost crestfallen.  
  
"Of course I did!"  
  
"Hey, but I was close this time, wasn't I?" she said hopefully.  
  
The man shook his head, smiling down at the cat.  
  
The man and the cat walked on.  
  
***  
  
The man and the cat entered the garden a few minutes before twelve o'clock. The cat immediately took the lead, and the man followed the cat past a pool, its bottom scattered with coins. They walked under a huge stone wall with a doorway in it, passing countless trees and flowers, heavy with droplets of dew. The cat darted over a little bridge, then stopped in front of a wooden seat underneath a spreading chestnut tree. The man stopped and stood in front of the wooden seat silently for a while, not saying a word, just staring.  
  
"Will?" the cat said softly.  
  
The man let out an almost inaudible sigh. He slowly sat down in the seat, and the cat leaped into his lap. He stroked the cat's fur languidly with his left hand, a hand missing two digits.  
  
A teardrop fell onto the cat's fur. The man brushed the tears away from his face quickly. The cat didn't stir.  
  
***  
  
Memories were flooding back, memories that he kept bottled up inside him, refusing to let them out again except for a brief moment each year on Midsummer's Day.  
  
Memories of windows, windows hanging suspended in the air, windows that he opened, windows that he closed.  
  
Memories of thousand of ghosts crowding near, eager to touch his warm, living flesh.  
  
Memories of angels outlined in fire, their beautiful wings ablaze, tumbling from the air.  
  
Memories of a girl, her hair a dark gold, hair that shone as though it were on fire under the sun, bending over a golden compass, her eyes flickering, following a jumping needle.  
  
Memories of soft hands, soft eyes, soft lips, sweet fruit being held up to his mouth.  
  
The tears fell faster.  
  
Memories of ghosts stepping out into the world, their faces transformed with joy, embracing the universe, and drifting away into the mist.  
  
Memories of infinite peacefulness, just lying there with the girl, the two of them overflowing with love.  
  
Memories of feeling his heart being wrenched from his chest, feelings of sadness and intense desperation saturating his entire body.  
  
The man was weeping openly now, and if it could, the cat would have been crying as well. As it was, the cat was crying inside, sharing the man's memories and emotions.  
  
And as the man sat there weeping silently, it began to rain, as though the heavens were crying as well. The chestnut tree bowed underneath the droplets, heavy with water, as though the tree were sharing in the man's grief.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
A little girl's voice pierced the silence. She stood there on the bridge, holding a spindly black umbrella, looking uncertain. The man tried to compose himself.  
  
"Dad, are you okay?" the girl said, looking as though she might cry as well.  
  
"Yeah," the man said, his voice breaking a bit. He quickly wiped away his tears with the back of his sleeves. He stood, the cat flowing off his lap and landing silently on the stone pathway.  
  
"Let's go home."  
  
The man took his daughter's hand and the two of them left the garden, the cat padding along behind, its claws clicking on the stones beneath.  
  
***  
  
Based on the trilogy "His Dark Materials" by Philip Pullman. 


End file.
